


Two Sides

by Zahira



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: 3.2 Spoilers, Angst, Ascian, Gen, Horror, My First Fanfic, Nightmares, Unreliable Narrator, Weirdness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-17
Updated: 2016-08-28
Packaged: 2018-08-09 08:36:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7794907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zahira/pseuds/Zahira
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Warrior of Light gradually turns from Hydaelyn. Idle musings on the side consequences of dalliances with Ascians.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Two Sides

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [By His Grace](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4775414) by [Ozma](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ozma/pseuds/Ozma). 

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Scions gather to share memories. Something that has been eating away at the Warrior of Light causes an argument that ruins the occasion. Contains spoilers for 3.2 MSQ up to events immediately following Antitower.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My imagining of how it might go if the Warrior of Light tried to convince the other Scions that this conflict may not be entirely black and white. Inspired by Ozma's various oneshots, "Vessel" most directly.

"To Minfilia."

Alphinaud raised his mug with the others sitting around the table, then drank deeply. Y'shtola and Krile sat beside each other--the two seemed to be inseparable since Krile’s arrival in Eorzea. Tataru was at Alphinaud's right between him and Krile, while Thancred and their vaunted champion, the Warrior of Light, sat at his left. Gibrillont had set them up in a quiet side room at a mumbled explanation from Alphinaud, so despite the usual heavy scent of ale and meat permeating the air, they at least avoided the usual ruckus of boisterous, liquor-soaked reveling. The six of them were all understandably sullen, angry, or both.

Tataru was the first to break the silence. "It feels wrong to mourn her without telling F'lhaminn.... Why, Alphinaud?"

Alphinaud shifted uncomfortably in the hard spruce chair, unable to come up with a satisfactory answer for too many seconds. "I suppose I hold out hope we may be able to recover her essence and restore her. I do not want to put F'lhaminn through this feeling of loss should it turn out to be temporary."

"Krile and I will think on a solution to that problem," Y'shtola responded softly, "but you would do well to remember the thin line 'twixt hope and denial." Heat rose in Alphinaud's face. She had the right of it; he simply couldn't bear to face F'lhaminn. Not yet. He knew the longer he put it off, the worse the truth would hurt. But maybe Y'shtola and Krile would find a way.

Maybe.

Thancred finished his drink, then leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. "I remember the first time I realized how special she truly was. Her father had recently passed, but he had been in the middle of investigating a threat, so someone else we knew thought to use thaumaturgy to bring him back and question him."

Tataru interjected--"Ooh, zombies, that never ends badly!" An attempt to keep the mood light, one which Alphinaud appreciated. Sharing happy memories had been how he hoped this gathering would go.

Thancred gave the slightest amused smirk before continuing "So of course, since nothing any of us does ever goes quite right, the man was murdered in front of Minfilia. When we got there and found naught but a corpse and a terrified girl, Minfilia reached out her hand and showed us what had happened. I had never seen anything like it." He half scoffed, half chuckled. "I actually tried to run away when I returned to myself." Alphinaud snickered at the thought of the unflappable ladies' man running off in a senseless panic.

Gibrillont had sent an aproned serving girl in to refill their cups during the end of Thancred's story, and she was just finishing her rounds. Krile leaned back in her chair as her cup was filled, closing her eyes, a sad smile tugging at her lips. "She was so gifted, and so devoted. Hydaelyn could not have chosen better.”

The serving girl departed their side room, the door swinging open, some boisterous man recognizing her and calling her over with a gravelly “Hey! Ada!” before the door shut again and the din from outside faded. Several of the Scions were now starting their second cups. The last voice in the room soon broke the silence, barely more than a whisper: "Hydaelyn asks too much."

Alphinaud, along with the others at the table, turned to look at the source of the quiet declaration. Their Warrior of Light sat hunched over, staring at the table, hands still wrapped around the cup of wine, mouth set in a hard line.

Krile instinctively moved to defend her dearest friend. "Minfilia gave herself freely. You said so yourself."

The Warrior scoffed and met Krile's eyes. "I only relayed what I was told by the Word. Who can say whether She spoke truly?" A shake of the head preceded the rest of the thought, hard eyes turning back to bore a hole through the table. "Her compulsions are nearly impossible to escape. Should She will me to stand from my seat, walk outside, and throw myself into the abyss, I could not refuse." The Warrior's tone dropped to a near whisper. "In fact, I would likely 'freely' come to the conclusion that it would be a fantastic idea."

Alphinaud felt on edge. His friend had never spoken this way before; Minfilia's death must have had a far more profound impact than he realized. He had to intervene, had to find a few words of comfort. "Hydaelyn would never ask that of you, though."

"Because my skill in combat is so useful to Her. I am Her weapon. What if I am injured and can no longer fight? What if I lose Her favor?"

"Why would you lose--" Y'shtola attempted to interrupt, but the Warrior was letting something out that had apparently been simmering, and it would not be stopped.

"I am immune to primal influence because She claims us in the same way, leaving no room for their brand on my soul. We would be _fools_ to disregard the possibility that we are simply Her tempered."

A heavy, uncomfortable silence settled over the room like a too-thick blanket. Loud laughter wafted in from the main room. Tataru's voice, smaller than ever, eventually squeaked in. "But Hydaelyn is good. Minfilia was good. You're good. You just want to help people. There isn't anything wrong with that."

A sardonic smile burst forth across their friend's lips. "Oh, we do what we can to protect the innocent. But it does as much good as attempting to bring the Dragonsong War to its end by feeding the hungry in the Brume. A salve that eases suffering but does nothing to resolve anything. One could claim it leads to _more_ deaths because we had the power to act and chose not to." The Warrior stopped nursing the cup of wine, tossing it back with surprising speed. Alphinaud idly wondered how long his friend had been here. Perhaps alcohol could explain the freeness of these words. Contrary to his first guess, these thoughts seemed to have been plaguing his friend for some time; they were surprisingly well-developed and were now pouring forth as a torrent.

"How would you propose we 'resolve' this situation, then?" Thancred broke into Alphinaud's musing, his first words in a long while. The hearth crackled as the Warrior considered how to answer.

"Thancred... you weren’t here when we were formulating our plan to end the Dragonsong War. Ishgard received word of a massive attack, one that would dwarf the Steps of Faith, and beseeched our aid. Did we take them at their word that dragons were evil and set about slaughtering every dragon we could find to blunt the force of the attack? No. 'Twould have been as futile as damming the sea with a handful of pebbles. 

Alphinaud nodded, even though he wasn't entirely sure where this was leading, offering his input. “The Horde cannot be _stopped_ by sheer force, only survived. Though Aymeric and Estinien thought our plan impossible, they saw the wisdom of a different approach.”

His friend returned the nod. “After convincing them not to launch a preemptive strike, we sought out someone we once called enemy--Iceheart--and asked for information. We made our way to Hraesvelgr through her and learned of the root of the conflict. We removed the instigators by putting an end to Nidhogg and the Archbishop,"--Thancred's visible eye narrowed dramatically at this--"and the Ishgardians began to atone for their forefathers' crimes. We would already _have_ peace had Nidhogg's shade not managed to live on in Estinien to keep things going."

Thancred was visibly angry now, turned fully in his chair to face their champion. "Seek out an enemy for information? Remove the instigators? What _exactly_ are you suggesting?"

Alphinaud, knowing a little of the nature of Krile's own Echo, snuck a peek at her, finding a look of puzzled concern. Was there something tangible under these words? The Warrior met Thancred's gaze with a measured expression, and Alphinaud watched his friend carefully calculate the next words: "Merely that even Her story must have two sides."

Thancred's entire body was coiled as if about to strike. "Minfilia _died_ for you. You dishonor her memory with this talk."

"She did not die for _me_." Agitated, the Warrior's words began to turn sharp and bitter, emphasizing with a pointing finger jabbed at the smooth table, rattling their cups. " _You_ put your life on the line for _us_ , for _both_ of us, as did you, Y'shtola, as did Yda and Papalymo. You were willing to give everything for us to escape. _Would_ have given everything if not for Y'shtola's quick thinking. A debt I can never truly repay. We were both free and clear when Minfilia heard a call she had no choice but to heed and threw herself onto Her dying embers. As if the best of us had no more value in Her grand plan than common kindling! _How_ does that not make you angry?"

The crackling fire warming the room, the talk of embers and kindling, and the argument--was it getting hotter in here? Alphinaud had begun to sweat nervously. He desperately wished for a return to the exchange of pleasant memories just a few moments ago.

"Say it, then. Stop dancing around it. Tell us, who _exactly_ are you going to find to give us the other side of the story?" Thancred clearly wanted their champion to admit to... what? Proposing that they approach the Ascians? Ridiculous!

"Both of you, stop, please!" Alphinaud wailed, unable to fathom the implied accusations. "This is not what Minfilia would have wanted!"

Thancred and the Warrior were fixated on each other, neither breaking the other's gaze for a long time. Finally the Warrior looked away with a roll of the eyes and a small, exasperated exhale, pushing away from the table with surprising speed. "I need some air." Quick, steady strides betrayed sobriety, as did the controlled opening and closing of the door rather than an uncalculated, emotional slam. _Not drunk after all_ , Alphinaud thought.

"I suppose death affects each of us differently," Y'shtola's ever soft, steady, sensible tone broke the lingering silence after the departure. She and Krile exchanged glances that promised to speak more of this later.

"Minfilia would know how to patch this up," Tataru lamented, holding her cup close and deeply inhaling the wine's spice blend for comfort.

"Mayhap I should try, then." Alphinaud rose from his seat with a wobble, the wine getting to him more than the others. He stood carefully as he left the room, looking questioningly at Gibrillont, who pointed toward the stairs. The tavern's back entrance, leading down into the Brume. With the briefest of annoyed sighs--why the stairs?--Alphinaud set about tottering down the steps, his head swimming, not expecting to find his friend in the maze of Ishgard's lowest levels. He stepped out of the door and into the cold--for once the chill was a relief, he thought with amusement--and went to the edge of the tavern's rear balcony, spying the champion on the rampart below, alone, arms crossed, looking out over the abyss.

Satisfied, he started to move toward the Warrior, but stopped quickly when he heard speech. "...suppose it was foolish of me to expect any other reaction." Alphinaud was certain he had been quiet, but it wouldn't be the first time his friend's battle hardened instincts surprised him outside the field. He considered his response, only to hear more. "Yes, but I only thought... If they could see the parallels, they might be willing to hear...."

The teenage Elezen's mind went into overdrive, searching for an explanation. Was the Warrior's mind truly so rent as to speak to nothing, _and to respond_ as if it spoke back? He gazed out across the abyss, following his friend's unbending stare, when he remembered what lay in that direction: Providence Point. _Haurchefant's resting place_ , thought Alphinaud. After all, 'twas common to speak to lost companions after their passing. Several times Alphinaud himself had named the nothingness around him "Ysayle" and asked it what she would do. He stepped back into the tavern, ensuring he closed the door behind him quietly so as not to disturb his friend's mournful commune.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried really hard to do the neutral WoL so people could imagine their own characters here, but I don't know how well it works with this much dialogue. Anyway, my first fanfic. Thanks for reading.


	2. Perchance to Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Warrior of Light indulges in some time off post-3.3. Hydaelyn, unhappy with Her chosen's unwelcome change in attitude toward Her enemy, breaks Her silence to issue a very stern course correction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This started out as nothing, then got really weird and intense as I kept writing... But it also came out much higher quality than my usual idle scribbles, so I decided to post it. I don't know. I apparently have issues.

_So this is peace_ , you muse as the Gates of Judgement come into view, signifying that you are near the end of your journey.

With the Dragonsong War ended, you are left to your own devices most days. The beast tribes are quiet; the skirmishes between the last warmongering Ishgardians and dragons have died down. There are no dire situations that demand the attention of the Warrior of Light, no battles whose outcomes depend solely on your presence. You have time. The most precious gift of all, you suppose. Today, you are using it to make a leisurely journey from the Rising Stones to Ishgard on chocoback rather than making use of the aetheryte network. Your chocobo's powerful legs have made short work of the journey, and you get the sense the bird is elated, enjoying the extended run more than you ever could.

Certain though you are that this gift of time will be temporary, you cannot help but feel anxious in your idleness, finding it hard to believe you are not needed somewhere, feeling as though someone must be desperately calling for your aid while you callously ignore them in favor of the Coerthan wind whipping through your hair....

You shake your head as if to physically dislodge the thoughts from it, drawing in a deep breath and holding it as the Gates loom, stoic and imposing. _Stoic and imposing_ \--you mull over the words, wondering if others feel about you as you feel about the Gates, snickering to yourself as an unbidden and utterly silly image of the Gates replaced by an absurdly sized statue of you flits across your thoughts.

 _Straight face. Shoulders back. Head high._ You dismount your chocobo as per procedure, that the guards might be allowed to inspect you or your belongings freely, though you know they will not. "Loanne." You acknowledge the guard on duty with a polite smile, and she speaks your name in return, gesturing for you to continue into Ishgard.

You mount up again for the journey down the Steps of Faith, Ishgard's stonemasons hard at work repairing the damage from your last desperate struggle with their nation's thousand-year enemy. A brief pang of guilt tugs at you; you could be helping them rebuild. _Nonsense_ , you remind yourself. You ended their war for them, no one could truly fault you for wanting to rest after _that_.

As you approach the end of the long bridge over the abyss below, your head splits and your world fades to blinding white. You wait for the inevitable Echo-induced vision, but are surprised to find the pain and light fading back to reveal... nothing new or different. You are right in the saddle where you faded out, your chocobo pausing, waiting for you to pick up the reins. Cautiously, you do so and urge the bird to continue forward.

A heavy silence drapes over Ishgard as you cross the threshold; something is very wrong here. The air is thick with aether, thicker than even Mor Dhona's most dangerous of days, and no matter how hard you look, you see only wood, stone, and dust.

You dismount, the sound of your footsteps suppressed by the blanket of dispersed aether, leading your chocobo toward the stables, peering into every nook and cranny along the way, hoping for some sign of life--a rodent, a scavenging pet, a soaring carrion bird, anything. Your wishes are not granted.

A too-faint voice, barely at the edge of your hearing, just breaks the eerie silence. "Beloved daughter... thou stray'st from the path. Suffer not the servants of darkness. Look thee on their goal: the light of life unmade into purest chaos."

As if on cue, your chocobo shrieks in pain, powerful feet jerking and twitching as the bird falls to the ground. You stand rooted, helplessly torn between backing off to avoid a debilitating kick or rushing in to comfort your companion, who has been by your side since before you were revered the realm over as a hero. You decide on an action almost too late; darting through the unpredictable path of the flailing talons, you step over the bird and kneel down, clutching soft feathers as the screeches wracking your ears grow weaker and weaker, ending as talons and feathers begin to dissipate into aether.

As your steed's body disappears and envelopes you in a mist, you realize with abject horror the reason for both the lack of any sign of life and the thick blanket of aether hanging over the city. It is _Ishgard_ , all its people, all their lives, all their hopes for a brighter future, a future _you_ made possible, gone. The aether digs at you accusingly, blaming, tearing--this is _your_ fault, you had so many chances to act, chances _you_ spent instead on thinly rationalized dalliances, _how could you let this happen to us, you were supposed to save us all_ \--you vaguely recognize an intense pain in your throat but find it impossible to stop screaming.

With a start, you open your eyes to a binding bright sky, a worried stonemason shaking you by your shoulder, repeatedly calling your name. As you regain your senses, you sit up in a panic, finding your chocobo staring down at you quizzically. The collective emotions from your vision hit you all at once, coming out as a strangled sob. You cannot help but curl your knees to your chest and weep uncontrollably, failing to notice another stonemason running toward you from inside Ishgard, bringing with him one of your companions.

A gentle touch on your shoulder and a soft call of your name leads you to look up--Alphinaud. "Are you alright? What happened?"

"A v-vision... The Echo... I...." You struggle to find words for what Hydaelyn has inflicted on you. To lay full blame for the world's end at your feet, to make you watch your most innocent companion die in pain, the horror of it all... _Haven't I done enough, why can't I just live as I like, why is it up to me...._ You can only sob again. "I can't do this...."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look, I know the chocobo isn't a major character per se, but I feel like it could be disturbing nonetheless. Idk, i don't know how to fanfic.


End file.
